


Rabbit Heart

by myothermountisaqunari



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Mage Rights, Multi, Templar Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myothermountisaqunari/pseuds/myothermountisaqunari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She never wanted power. In fact, if Lady Thorne could have had the exact opposite of that, she'd have been content. Life had been unkind to the young mage, and it did not appear to be turning out well upon being forced to join the Inquisition. Gaining more than a few titles she never wanted, becoming a political figure of Thedas, and trying not to cower at every loud noise that came her way, Genevieve has more than a long way to go to become a true Herald of Andraste. Much to the Inquisitions dismay, she seems to need to be dragged into the limelight kicking and screaming. </p>
<p>How useful can a mage who refuses to learn magic actually BE, anyways?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Thorne in my side.

It was all the meek little apprentice mage had ever known herself to be called in her time at the Circle, unless she was in particularly large trouble or whatever Templar flavor of the month wanted to pretend he fancied her as he rutted her lifeless body up against a bookcase or in a shadowed corner. She’d always been passed around on the kindness of one person or another, never being quite well equipped enough to take care of herself, and so she supposed she often was a nuisance instead. Rereading the same page about force spells she had neither the skill nor intention to use, she wondered if her father had ever intended this life for her.

No one had known her mother was a mage, had actually come from a rather long line of them, carefully hidden amongst the lesser nobility so as to arrange more suitable marriages and amass more influence. Perhaps even Genevieve would have lived that charmed life of a noble girl, had her mother not taken ill with the Blight and passed before her first show of magic popped up and she was ripped from her rather unwilling father and brothers. She wondered what had become of them at one time, and kept the only possession of home the Circle had allowed her to bring with her, but it had become a faraway dream over the years. Unconsciously, she tightened the pale blue cloak around her shoulders, the garment laughably small for an adult, more of a shawl now than the oversized protection from the world it had once been.

Closing the book, she sighed and looked out the laughably small sliver of a window. Barely even a single vertical cut in the wall, it was made so they ‘could see the world without trying to sully it’ as one of the more temperate Templars had explained to another while she’d been organizing books one day. Though she supposed there were worse places to be.

She could be Tranquil. She shuddered at the thought, not daring to glance at the other, once rather lively, librarian. Finnigan had been such a promising apprentice. Fire and elemental spells had been his specialties, something to match that brightly burning personality of his. He couldn’t even light a candle wick now. He’d been too passionate, they said, too prone to civil unrest and violence. She missed him. Would it be so bad to lose her magic though, really? That poor, unused, pathetic thing that was so very hardly there most residents of the Circle ignored her simply because they thought she already was Tranquil.

In fact, she likely would have been had First Enchanter Sinclair not specifically stated she should not be. Her first, and strongest, show of magic had been one of healing. A gift the Enchanter had thought could become useful to the Chantry and perhaps even the Wardens in time. Alas, it had never come to pass. The pressure of honing the skills she was assured made her a danger to herself and everyone around her absolutely did not seem like an appealing avenue for a seven year old to take, and her abilities had stunted from various traumas incurred from trying to drag that little girl kicking and screaming into her own magic.

Replacing the book on the appropriate shelf, her fingers ghosted over well worn tome always glanced at, but never opened, about spirit healing. Ever so reverently, a single finger ran down the unassuming spine of the tattered old thing, and like always, retreated. Genevieve wished she’d never helped that tiny little puppy.

It had been sickly, the runt, and had not bonded to anyone before its mothers owner had moved onto the next town, forgetting the little one that couldn’t keep up with its siblings as he left. Some of the nastier boys in town had been teasing it, kicking it, daring it to fight back. She let a shuddered sigh escape her lips as she remembered with closed eyes.

Genevieve had always been a tiny thing herself. Slight, and soft, with a lilting voice, and thick brown curls with those wide blue eyes staring out at you. She’d always been allowed to trail behind her brothers as they played with the children of the town their father stood watch over. Not a large or even noteworthy estate but a sizeable enough town that her parents garnered good will from the people having their family regularly mingle with the common folk.

It had been a rather bright, pleasant day all in all. Gigi had been chasing a cat around trying to pet it, swallowed up in her little fur lined cloak and bobbing along, when she head the squeal of an animal in pain. Turning round the corner to investigate, she’d seen this sweet little Mabari pup on the ground, being beaten with sticks while the little boy jeered at it.

“Useless thing! Fight back! What do those Fereldens see in these things anyways? Stupid thing won’t live past nightfall, let alone grow up to be a wardog!” a nasty boy who’d often tugged on her then-short curls had complained. The other boys had all agreed, and the little noble had cried softly unsure whether or not to get an adult, as she’d seen her brothers play fight with these boys and perhaps that’s all they were doing now and she didn’t want anyone to get in trouble if they didn’t have to. And so they beat him, and kept beating, until the pup had squealed so loud and so long that she couldn’t take anymore when she saw the adults finally coming to investigate.

Running over as the pup fell silent, Gigi dropped to her knees and pet its frail body ever so gently. She ran her hand over each distended rib, the soft little ears, the cold nose from which she could feel no soft breath puffing from anymore. Holding it tightly to her chest as she cried, she was not paying attention to the adults and Templar guards whom were scolding the boys for harming something weaker than they. What business was it of hers that the Templars had tracked down an apostate that had run off and were not dragging him back, staying in town for a night or two before continuing back to Ferelden. Any normal child would not have thought twice about the Chantry’s presence around them, and so she too had not.

“Please, please, please, petit chien. You need to make your heartbeat match mine. Please wake up. Please, please, please,” she’d whispered. Perhaps, had one of the younger Templars not looked over in that moment to comfort her, she could have lived her life in secrecy as her mothers family always had, with an older cousin or in-law teaching her how to conceal her magic and control it. But a caring young man had looked her way, and he had seen the bright white glow spreading out from the pups heart in pulses, traveling along its bloodstream and lighting it up from within before emanating a small soft whine and a wag of its stub of a tail.

Gigi, for all her innocence, was all excitement, and showed the Templar rather happily the now squirming and significantly healthier looking puppy. It was as if it had never been forgotten and malnourished, it’s eyes bright and alert, it’s energy high, and it’s injuries from the boys completely gone.

“Look look! The Maker brought him back! Papa said he was good and just, and he is, and he wouldn’t let an innocent get hurt, and what Papa said was true! Can I keep him?” she had brightly exclaimed, eyes shining with just as much mirth as the mabari in her hands while the Templar looked on in horror, watching as some of his less tolerant colleagues immediately yanked the pup from her hands and picked her up over their shoulder much to her confusion. Yet she didn’t scream or squirm, as she’d been taught Templars were good and just too and would never hurt you. They were to be trusted in the same fashion Papas and Mamas were, you could always go to one for help.

“Inform the Lord of this keep that his daughter has exhibited signs of magic. As no Orlesian Templars are in the vicinity and one as young and untrained as she is a danger to society, we will be taking her back to Kinloch Hold with us,” he spouted authoritatively. Now that place, Gigi knew, was cause to fear. Was she really a mage? But surely the Maker had brought the pup back from the precipice of death as only he could.

Kinloch had playfully been threatened by her Papa as a place for bad children, and if you were naughty and displeased the Maker, you’d be carted away by His chosen knights to make up for what you’d done wrong. If she had brought the puppy back herself, she’d done a grave misdeed indeed. Mortals were not meant to bring back the dead. She’d spat in the face of the Maker and defied him all for the happy whine of a puppy whom was now dancing around the Templar’s feet.

The memory alone caused Genevieve to back up against the bookcase behind her, as if the spirit healing tome were a poison she had to get as far away from as she could. She’d never read anything on the subject, despite her superiors urging, so she could never truly know if the pup whom had followed them on the way back all the way to the Circle Tower had been truly dead or not. It had been confusing, to say the least, to be simultaneously applauded for having such a beneficial gift to give to the Circle, while at the same time having her childhood fear of having displeased the Maker by saving the pup she hadn’t even seen since she’d been carried silently through the doors, completely reinforced.

She’d done something unnatural. Wicked. And had continued doing so by accident as she grew up and small birds hit the too-small windows, getting stuck and withering away on the windowsill until someone could pry them out. She’d committed more affront to the Maker by feeling too much concern for others she’d grown used to within the Circle, healing small cuts from knives by accident trying to kiss them better, or easing the muscles of Templars wound too tightly when she was younger and not quite as leery of their watchful eyes. Staring down the book, she couldn’t understand.

How could she be such a blasphemous abomination, when the things she was doing weren’t so inherently or obviously bad? What made them so? The older she got, the larger the question pressed against her ind and childlike faith in a Maker that she was sure had not abandoned her. Even when she was moved to the Ostwick Circle for showing no growth nor lingering promise, she had believed the Maker was watching over her.

From above, echoing around in the high ceilings, she heard the strangest sound. Screaming. It echoed down the hallways, the sound of clanging armor and the harsh sting of magic accompanied by the smell of burnt ozone pulling energy from the Fade sometimes caused. Never had she encountered these sounds in the Circle before, and for a moment she was frozen, but only for a moment. As Finny calmly went to the door to investigate, only to be impaled by the blade of a furious Templar, Genevieve quietly slipped into the servants entrance and found her way to the kitchens, trying and failing to not throw up every now and then on the way there. In a panic, she took a sack, some sturdier if not dirtier slippers, and the plain brown dress of a kitchen maid and changed clothes, retraining only her light and transparent undershirt beneath the rougher clothes and her cloak turned shawl. She swept as many provisions as she thought she could carry into the bag and ran to the open door.

She couldn’t exactly tell you why she’d decided trying to make it out was the best cause of action, but somehow her instincts lucked her out of the worst of the slaughter going on behind her in the Circle she’d come to call home. Dressed the way she was and without a staff as she had never cultivated her skills and so had no use for one, a Templar outside had ushered her away with other non-dangerous civilians to protect them from the recent rebel uprising among the mages.

Funnily enough, the young made herself couldn’t remember there ever being signs of a rebellion within the apprentices of Ostwick. Too many nights she’d heard them worrying over their Harrowings, and occasionally complaining about the punishment the Templars rather hit or miss delivered to them, but she hadn’t thought to put the unrest and the idea of rebellion together. No matter what atrocities had been done to her, whether she’d been caged up and denied food and water a few days here or there for healing another bird but refusing to perform properly or worse, accidentally causing a wound to worsen, she’d considered it just desserts for her misdeeds like she’d been taught. A strict but ultimately caring hand that the Templars generously extended to them all, even if their demands were conflicting and confusing at times. That had just meant she’d needed to study every book she could get her hands on twice as hard next time, and so when she was hurried into a cart destined to take servants and staff away to port to transport them to a safe place, she hadn’t questioned it she’d been so far in shock a rebellion had happened at all.

Eventually upon reaching Ferelden shores again after having been gone so long, she’d been convinced by a fellow traveler to take pilgrimage to the Temple of Ashes, where a meeting between the Chantry and the Mage Rebellion, still a foreign and troubling subject for Genevieve to grasp, was taking place.

Perhaps, had the Maker been kinder, he’d have let Thorne become the burden of yet another persons kindness and she could have become a Sister at the Temple or at the very least a scribe. But as Genevieve approached the steps of the Temple, she learned the harshest lesson she’d been taught her entire life.

There was no Maker. And if there were, her fears were well founded and he had forsaken her, for upon the moment she’d started to emerge from her shock induced daze to restart her life in a slightly freer but not wholly unknown way of life, the Temple of Ashes exploded in a symphony of green light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all events are game compliant. This has a more circular storyline, and I also don't want to tell you a story you already know.  
> Critiques and comments are loved and welcomed, please enjoy! :D
> 
> Also this is my absolute first time writing Solas, so any critiques/helpful tidbits to writing him would be appreciated!  
> There's also a reason, when she learns the names of characters, that the narrative refers to characters so formally. Over time, the Lady Seekers, Lady Nightengales, and Master Solas's will end, but only as the Inquisitor becomes more familiar and comfortable with them.

Genevieve, technically speaking, had a rather large working knowledge about the Fade. She'd read and re-read as many books on it as had been deemed appropriate in the Ostwick library, and had rather fond memories of reading by moonlight when everyone had gone to sleep. There had always been something beautiful and untouchable about it. 

The living hellscape she was currently in was absolutely not beautiful, and she was quite sure she was firmly touching the rough ashy ground. It was quiet, and eerie, the ground all charred and twisted as if halfway frozen while it was melting. The sky was a sickly green, and in the corners of her vision but somehow uncatchable were brightly lit shadows moving. Yet every time she'd turn to ask a spirit a question, a horrifying notion of itself, nothing would be there. Her head thrummed with an off-key song humming in the air, and the sickly sweet smell of rotting plants and charred earth were dizzying. Was she being Harrowed, was her first thought. There was no discernable path set out before her and so she simply followed the only trail available upwards towards a towering slope, hoping feebly that perhaps a change in vantage point would help her get her bearings. 

She'd assumed she'd chosen wisely when a tall glowing female figure, too fuzzy around the edges to discern any real features, approached her in a wash of warmth and light. She hadn't even realized she'd been shivering until the spirit approached her with all that gentle heat, like the morning sun on a summer day, sweet and comforting in such a desolate place. The mage couldn't help but perk up at the newcomer, thinking she had guessed correctly and that everything, from the fighting at Ostwick to the explosion and rubble and the arguing voices she'd come upon when she'd tried entering which oddly enough she was remembering with a remarkable lack of clarity now. Her brows furrowed and she cocked her head at the figure, she'd been sure she'd come across someone at the Temple, hadn't she? It nearly sent her in a panic not remembering how or why she was here, until it dawned on her that you didn't always remember the to and from to places in your dreams and it was as such in the Fade as well. If this WAS a Harrowing, which she greatly suspected it was as she was long overdue for hers at twenty-five, then moving from place to place wouldn't always make sense. That was until the spirit spoke.

"This is not the test you think it to be, mageling, though a test it shall prove itself to be. You must away from here, the tear, at the top of this hill, you must make it as I cannot keep it open much longer. Your mind is not the only thing trapped here, you must --" the vaguely Orlesian sounding spirit explained hurriedly, her voice warm and comforting almost like a faraway memory of Genevieve's mother. But she never finished, though Genevieve didn't need to be told twice as the horror of a fear demon crept up behind her. She heard it long before she saw it, not even turning back to look, forcing the spirit to float ahead of her as fast as it could and wait for her at the top of the path.

"For the fox he did go hunting, for a rabbit, slight and fair....." the wispy, echoing masculine voice singsonged, striking pure terror into the girl. Wether she was in the Fade, or had simply come across a confused Compassion spirit during her Harrowing she wasn't sure, all she knew was no matter if this was real or not if that voice caught her she'd be dead one way or another. She tripped once or twice, noticing a sickly sparking of magic from her left hand as pain shot up her arm the closer she got to the tear of light in the otherwise foreboding sky. As much pain as the magic was causing her, she doubled over onto an outcropping of....whatever the ground was made of here, pausing to hide and catch her breath, slowing her breathing the way she'd seen the midwife tell the few pregnant women in the Tower to do to get through the pain of childbirth. As she did so, she imagined herself far from here, back in a hazy memory of a place that smelled of sweet rolls and lavender with the lilting voice of a mother crooning in her ears and the booming laughter of a father. Being in the Fade could do strange things to people if they let such memories overtake them, and the jeering taunting and laughing of the man down the hill became a distant concern. Opening her unfocused eyes, Genevieve saw her hiding spot compromised, as she was quite steadily glowing a soft cream colored light. She hadn't even realized the pain had temporarily gone away until she thought about it, blinking her eyes as the light snuffed itself out quickly, the bright white spirit the only gentle companion left to her.

As she fled towards the spirit, whose arm was outstretched and urging her to press on the last few feet, she vaguely supposed in passing that intent did not matter in the Fade. It would pull the magic out of you wether you bid it to or not, and decided that magic was a far more dangerous thing than she had ever suspected before. If the ghost of a ghost of a memory could ease he pain and give her an intense resurgence of energy, what could someone who'd willingly cast magic here do? The moment her fingers touched the spirits, her world went silent, and the only pinprint of light she could see was blinding, growing in intensity and heat until it encompassed her entire vision. A severe feeling of being squeezed to death overtook her senses in the great white light, and she couldn't even hear herself gasp for that last breath of precious air. Then all of a sudden the feeling just....stopped. With a sudden pop in her ears, a great woosh of super charged air roared around her, bringing sensation back to everything. Her bones ached, her head was throbbing, and as her vision cleared to the ruins and flames around her, she half giggled dreamily as what appeared to be Templar soldiers surrounded her.

"Is Ser Langley burning a roast again?" she asked dreamily, taking in the smell of slightly charred pork before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the ground, unable to take any more sensations for the moment.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When she awoke, it was with a start, much to the amused shock of the elf massaging her hand.  
The fact they were in a cell didn't perturb the brunette much, many of the rooms in the Circle had looked like well padded cells anyways, but the fact there was an elf she was unfamiliar with (as there were only a handful in Ostwick total) using magic to soothe her muscles very much did alarm her. Jerking her hand away hastily, she watched the elf calmly stare her down, as if waiting for the scared doe to come to its own terms before approaching again. Which was probably for the best, as she curled herself as tightly in the corner of the bed as she could. She only vaguely lamented stopping him, as an ache crept back into her arm, a constant dull humm of pain she very much hoped wasn't permanent. 

"No doubt you are questioning who I am, and where you are, not to mention the mark in your hand that ails you," he spoke, his eyes softening a fraction, tilting his head as if both inclining towards her and listening for....something, she was sure. It was the what that was a bit fuzzy. She nodded slowly, looking down to her hand, the glowing having calmed down considerably since that horrible dream. It barely looked like she was holding a firefly captive in her hand now, albeit a rather brightly colored one. Looking up at him hopefully, she prayed she was still home in Ostwick, that this had all in fact BEEN just a dream.

"Did I pass? Oh no, did I hurt anyone? There'd be Templars present had I hurt anyone, surely, wouldn't there? Are you an advisor from another Circle? Is that what a Harrowing is always like, that was terrifying, thank goodness that pale lady was there or I doubt I'd have found my own way out," she tittered nervously as she fiddled with a lock of her hair, though the elf to his credit rather patiently didn't interrupt her once, even when she kept talking, unawares of the newest visitors that had come through the open door. Inclining his head towards the imposing Seeker and her hooded companion he laid a cautious hand on the young mage's shoulder to gain her attention. Her eyes widedened in shock as she saw the Chantry official, and tears sprung to her eyes. So she had hurt someone, badly, if a Seeker had come to call. Standing up abruptly, she bowed her head as tears flowed down her face, her voice cracking a little with despair and guilt. 

"I'm so sorry my lady Seeker. I never meant to hurt anyone, I swear! I don't even remember my Harrowing ceremony rights, it was simply the Fade one moment and here the next, please, forgive me! I didn't even think I had enough magic to be eligible for the procedure, let alone harm someone during it. I am ready to accept my Tranquility and punishment for whatever it is I've done," she repented vehemently, the Seeker's severe face brightening with triumph. Motioning to the elf and hooded figure, whose only response was to raise an eyebrow at the girls confession, the Seeker descended upon her harshly.

"So you confess to crimes against the Temple of Ashes and Our Divine Lady Justinia, along with the disturbance in the sky? Murder of our Lady and the innocents within the Temple is punishable by death, but you will come to trial in a hearing of the Chantry's making so that all will know of your treachery," the Seeker decreed, causing Genevieve's head to whip up in alarm and shock. But before she could ever say anything to the contrary, the elf stood gracefully, and ambled confidently over, his gaze never wavering from the Seeker's own. The terrified mageling could only surmise perhaps he had been a Keeper or First to his clan before a Circle, he seemed so composed and oddly paternal. Taking her left hand and showing the dimly glowing mark to the Seeker, he visibly held back a scoff.

"Guilty as she may appear, this mage has done nothing wrong, save for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'd told you before it was difficult to heal her wounds due to her magic being so tightly locked away, no doubt a testament to the function of your Templars? I had to work at her barriers for hours before my magic could push through the wall she has to protect herself from her own abilities. They've been suppressed so much and for so long, that I am positive she could not have caused either the explosion or the tear in the sky even if she'd ever wanted to cause harm to another creature. She is as docile as they come, Lady Pentagast, what little controlled magic she has, I felt no offensive ability in. She is as defenseless as a child here on the battlefield, and is not the great mastermind of this tragedy you are looking for." he explained, his voice soothing and even, calming even the Lady Seeker, which if she was the great Seeker Cassandra Pentagast that Genevieve had so often read about in chronicled histories of heroes was no easy feat. Genevieve was torn between trying to crowd behind her current protector, or seeking approval of such a great and honorable Chantry member by standing her ground. In the end, she ended up somewhere in the middle, leaning towards the elf while shuffling slightly from one foot to the other. 

As Lady Cassandra opened her mouth to angrily argue with her present keeper, the hooded figure stepped forward and quietly laid a hand on the Seeker's shoulder.

"Cassandra, I think he's telling the truth. Listen to her. She thinks she's been Harrowed, I doubt she even knows what's been happening outside of this room," the woman explained, her voice silky with a faraway Orlesian accent. Genevieve couldn't help but relax slightly at the sound. It was so familiar, both from her childhood and more recently to the brightly glowing spirit that had helped her escape her nightmare. Even their cadence was similar. The Seeker rolled her eyes and made a noise of disgust, disgruntled at the news her search was not yet over, and that she had in fact harassed a seemingly harmless young woman. 

"Then what do we do Lelianna? Why does her hand glow in the same way the breach does? We must make a stand against this!" Lady Cassandra demanded, to which the elf slid one hand behind his back and gestured openly with the other towards Genevieve.

"I may have a theory about that actually."


	3. Chapter 3

After the altercation with Seeker Pentaghast, the elf had introduced himself to Genevieve as Master Solas. Well, just Solas he had insisted, but the magelet couldnt' bring herself not to address him with the respect his presence and magical ability clearly displayed. He was an apostate, a novel idea by her standards, as she'd simply never come across a mage that hadn't lived and died in the tower. It was amazing to her that such things even existed. 

Currently, Solas was explaining his plan to Lady Nightingale to expose Genevieve to a much smaller tear that some scouts had just gone to inspect to see if perhaps a burst of proximital magic and secondary energy from another mage could trigger the tear to close, or at least lessen. He surmised the magic in her hand was one and the same, and had to be linked. Genevieve had quietly agreed, if what he'd said about every time the Breach opened so too did the mark on her hand was true. Seeker Pentaghast, to her credit, was standing rather resolutely if not a bit quietly awkward near the mage, as if keeping watch. In all honesty it was comforting to her to have someone so like a Templar nearby. Familiar, at the very least, and that was a commodity in an environment where every second brought new and unsettling realities and unfamiliarity to light. Clearing her throat with a strained expression on her face, the Seeker turned to address the mage.

"You seem....calmer....now. It was a mistake for me to accuse you of something so heinous, I cannot rule you out at the moment, but perhaps you will accept my apologies for doing so," she started, making Genevieve's eyebrows raise delicately in surprise. The mage almost went to touch the Seeker's arm as she might have done with an equal to comfort their embarrassment, but pulled back, thinking better of it. With a small frown, she considered how best to answer, seeing as no Templar had ever apologized to her for anything her entire life. That hadn't been entirely true, actually, the young man that had looked her way had apologized to her once as she'd cried for her papa on the trip to the Circle. She decided it was best to answer the Seeker as she had answered him back then.

"It's alright, m'lady Seeker. You were only doing what you were meant. It was my own magics fault you suspected me in the first place, even if I didn't mean to," she replied softly, her face gentle and unperturbed as she shifted another pace closer to the severe woman. The set of the Seekers shoulders softened a little, as did the tense lines around her face she'd been trying too hard to appear normal and unburdened by her guilt. She couldn't help but be slightly disturbed by the immediate subordinance and acceptance of guilt the mage had though. 

She almost hoped the girl wouldn't end up important to the rifts like the elf had theorized, should anyone remotely in command accuse the little Marcher of anything Cassandra was positive the girl would just nod her head and say it was just desserts for being born with magic. Her expression grew faraway and stormy next to the significantly calmer young lady, wondering if perhaps this too was an oversight the Seekers had made along with their stubborn blind eye towards Kirkwall's Circle. Was Ostwick only considered a sedate and exemplary Circle because they had thoroughly brainwashed their mages in the same way the prisoner had been? And there was no doubt that she was. It was almost disturbing how quickly the magelet was to blame herself for anything remotely magical going on in her vicinity, and how swiftly she expected judgement and punishment to be doled out in kind. The Seeker made a soft disgusted noise and nodded her head ever so slightly, deciding that should they indeed need to keep the girl around, if for nothing else than to let the elf continue to heal her hand while they dealt with the Breach, she'd be the girl's keeper for the time being. It would be far too easy for any of the Templars here at Haven to fall back into old bad habits of taking advantage of a mage, letting them place the blame upon themselves and calling whatever actions they did to said charges justified. She was sure Commander Cullen had them well in hand not to do such things as there were a few scant mages and Tranquil present here, but such a docile little thing like Genevieve was a difficult victim to ignore for men and women whom had been trained all their life they were to keep tight leashes on mages like her. Mages too weak to protect themselves from demons. In fact, the Seeker found herself surprised that the girl hadn't been made Tranquil to protect her yet. As if reading her mind, Genevieve wrung her hands and looked up to the Seeker, biting her lip before speaking.

"M'lady....perhaps.....perhaps if I cannot help, and I doubt I can, I've always been terrible with what little magic I've ever had....perhaps it would better to make me Tranquil? You could contain the magic in my hand better that way, couldn't you?" she asked timidly, peering up at the taller woman, her eyes soft and clearly looking for guidance. Had the thing she'd suggested doing to herself not been so severe and permanent sounding, the Seeker would have had to compose herself so as not to gush over how cute she looked. Be that as it may, she paused a moment too long, long enough for the elf to angrily come over and lay a hand on the prisoners shoulder, his eyes set stern and admonishing, as if correcting a child.

"Your magic is perfectly controlled, ma'falon. You have done nothing wrong here. You should not have to pay the price of simply being born as so many before you have, and besides, to have your own magic and ability to control your actions taken from you would only make the magic in your hand that much more unpredictable. Anyone with a spark of the gift would be able to use you as little more than a magical tool, it would be no better than being possessed by a corrupt spirit, and surely whomever caused the Breach would have that much easier a time making things worse were they able to control you unhindered by your own barriers," he defended, quieting Genevieve immediately as she bowed her head, thoroughly scolded. Peering up through her long lashes, the corners of her mouth twitched up ever so briefly though, softening the stern look on Master Solas's face. It was an odd but pleasant feeling that someone wanted her to stay just as she was, even if she didn't understand why he kept bringing up barriers of some kind. She didn't know how to use barrier spells. 

As the Seeker was about to rebuttal, the door opened widely and a crossbow entered the room swinging freely before its master did. Cassandra let out a groan of frustration. Of course HE would show up, as if the mage wasn't overwhelmed enough, and wasn't having her head filled with two conflicting ideologies between Solas and herself already. Now this pint sized annoyance was sure to give his two cents about the situation as well. 

"Hey Seeker, don't know if you've noticed, but we've got hell reigning down on us out there, so if you're done harping at an injured innocent, Bianca and I'd appreciate the asssist," he boomed, his voice large and jovial as he swiped some indeterminable dark substance that may or may not have been blood off his chin.

As soon as he entered the room, Genevieve's icy blues were glued to the man in front of her. He was only just shorter than she was, considering she was barely 5'6, so for a half a second she almost thought he was human. Until she realized that human men generally weren't a good three inches shorter than her. With a gasp she rushed forward much to the surprise of the other three in the room whom had grown used to her silent acceptance of her surroundings and their authority over it. She didn't seem the type to get overly excited without cause, though perhaps that was due to her upbringing in the Circle more than her actual nature they supposed. In a flurry of excitement, Genevieve circled the dwarf, gawking openly without shame and inspecting him the same way you would a particularly interesting research specimen. 

"You're a dwarf! I've never seen a dwarf before, they NEVER come to the Circles, the Templars always meet them somewhere else for their lyrium supplies! Do you deal lyrium? Is that why you're here? Who's Bianca? Her name sounds lovely, I'm positive she's lovely. Is she a dwarf too? I've never seen a lady dwarf either, are they delicate and soft like elves or are they sturdy looking like you are? My you really are dense aren't you, I thought only Templars and warriors were built so solidly. Are you a warrior too? Oh! I'm sorry, I've been terribly rude haven't I? I don't mean to be, it's just not often that I get to see something that I've only read about in books before! I'm Genevieve Thorne, apprentice and librarian of the Ostwick Circle! Or I was.....that is, until the rebellion happened. That's still so strange to think about being real...." she tittered on excitedly, her happy tone an demeanor tapering into a more docile sobriety as her face fell thinking of the fate of her Circle. Representatives had actually been sent to the Temple, she'd found out, after the Templars that had jumped the gun and had started executing mages without cause had been detained and stopped by other Templars and the tower Enchanters. Had there been a Circle left, she was sure she'd be welcomed back, but the somber train of thought dampened her enthusiasm quickly as she looked away in embarrassment for having gushed over something so simple as another race. In hindsight, it was rather rude of her to have done so. 

Booming with laughter, Varric threw his head back with mirth, and placed a hand on her shoulder warmly, a jaunty grin on his face. 

"That's alright, I haven't met a lot of Circle mages either! I'm offended you'd consider me a warrior, I'm clearly the dashing rougeish type, far too intellectual to be a shield basher," he responded, flashing the Seeker the most mocking friendly grin and whose sarcasam was completely lost on Genevieve, "Varric Tethras, at your service little miss, ruggedly handsome author, businessman, and occasionally unwanted tagalong. And THIS beauty is Bianca. She's every bit as lovely as you'd think she is, no better companion to bring down demons with, which reminds me I was here for Chuckles and the Seeker's assistance. There's only so much one handsome dwarf can do before he's overextended himself you see." 

It wasn't often that Genevieve became so comfortable around someone so quickly, but perhaps Master Tethras was just one of those people that had that effect on others. Her only other friend she'd been that way with before was Finny before he'd been made Tranquil and he'd been every bit as boisterous as the dwarf in front of her was. Master Solas rolled his eyes goodnaturedly, coming up silently behind Genevieve and placing a hand at the small of her back. 

"We were just finishing our preperations here. It's as good a time as any to test my theory. We could go towards the path the scouts went, though I'd have thought they'd be back with a report by now, or we could go a more direct route to the larger breach," he suggested, pulsing a warmth of magic from his hand as he noticed Genevieve tense up at the notion of leaving the relative safety of the cells. Lady Nightingale nodded, her lips pursed as she agreed with him.

"They should have returned by now, it is the more dangerous path through the mine but it was not an objective out of their depth," she answered affirmatively. Looking to the magelet, she inclined her head, raising an eyebrow with searching eyes as if looking for something in the girls face. "What do you think we should do? It is, after all, your mark and safety we are testing."

"You want my opinion?" Genevieve remarked, her eyes widening in both surprise and trepidation. She was unused to, and therefore uncomfortable, giving her opinion to her betters. Wringing her hands as the others in the room watched her, she bit her lip until it bled slightly. "The....mountain path, then? If we can help anyone still up there, we should....and Master Solas says the smaller tear, whatever those are, is there....maybe?" she said uncertainly, scanning each of their faces for approval, her demeanor falling slightly as she saw the disapproval on Seeker Pentaghast's face for the plan whom no doubt would have preferred something more direct. Master Tethras on the other hand, had a bit of a smile on his face.

With a sigh the Seeker stalked out of the room, Genevieve quickly following behind her like a little duckling while Solas and Varric took up the rear good naturedly or at least as well as they could considering the circumstances outside. If the conversations they'd been having were supposed to have prepared Genevieve for the hellscape that awaited her outside the doors of the makeshift prison, they were woefully inept at their goal. She nearly fainted as she caught sight of the great glowing green terror in the sky, not to mention the injured soldiers strewn about the encampment and the various piles of rubble from destroyed buildings and bridges. Even the ice of the water had a sickly green sheen to it that didn't bode well. A shiver ran up her spine and she pulled her little blue shawl tighter around her like a shield from all of it. It was easier to stay upright if she kept pretending all of this was a terrible nightmare she just had to get through. 

She followed the group silently, Lady Nightingale staying behind to deal with some Chantry official barking at her and the Seeker, screaming something about the prisoner being free and about and being in charge. Genevieve paused momentarily to glance at him, but ultimately ignored him to catch up with the group. Even Master Tethras was faster than she was, and it was visibly clear that the Seeker was getting exasperated that the mage had to stop so often to catch her breath. With a laugh, Tethras dropped back and raised an eyebrow, Bianca slung over his shoulder at the ready should anything appear.

"Didn't get much trekking done in the Circle, huh? Don't worry, Pidge, I'm not all that fond of long distances either," he assured her, causing her to tilt her head at the unfamiliar moniker. Raising an eyebrow she frowned.

"But Master Tethras, I thought that dwarves were excellent sprinters?" she questioned innocently, reciting some innane fact she'd surely read out of a book, much to his delight if his bark of laughter was anything to go by. The trek passed this way fairly uneventfully, though the Seeker was so put out by Genevieve's lack of endurance she simply flung the poor girl over her shoulder to get up the ladders to the mine path. Thankfully, she went last so as to preserve the mage's modesty with her dress, although the dwarf teased her about that as well. He sobered as they approached the mine though, looking to Cassandra as she gently placed her new charge down again.

"A mining tunnel. They're common here in the mountains, we should proceed with caution," she instructed, leading the way as Genevieve kept close to her, even childishly holding the tail end of the Seeker's shirt peeking out from under her armor. The magelet froze as she felt an unwelcome but familiar feeling wash over her. There were demons somewhere nearby, and she immediately looked to Master Solas with wide frightened eyes. He nodded in confirmation.

"Be wary, I fear we may soon encounter that which held up the scouts," he advised, unsheathing his staff and casting a barrier with a wave of his hand. It was cold, unpleasantly so, like a film of water that wasn't wet hovering just over your skin. Clammy. Genevieve decided she didn't like it, and just like that, the almost unseen sheen of the barrier turned from blue to a softer cream as it flickered over her skin, and the magic warmed. Tension released from her shoulders as it made the change, and while the change in barrier source went unnoticed by both Cassandra and Varric, Solas's sharp eyes grew bright with pride and an expectant nature. He was sure, if she were able to change things so quickly now without even realizing it, that should she ever become truly comfortable with her magic, Genevieve would be quite the force to be reckoned with. He doubted she even realized she'd been the cause of the change, and in fact, she'd simply attributed the warmth to adjusting to Solas's magic.

As they entered, a glowing green spirit appeared, floating aimlessly ahead. With no hesitation, the Seeker rushed forward, leaving her little charge behind as Solas flung barrage after barrage of glowing blue ice magic from his staff. Varric and Bianca were gleefully shooting down the spirit, and other demons that had come to join it, meanwhile Genevieve was still frozen in place in the back. She'd heard so much about the dangers of demons posessing mages, but while she'd come to recognize the signs of one, she'd never actually seen one. Even the one in the Fade, an experience she still wasn't entirely convinced had physically happened, she had only heard she hadn't seen. And in that case, it had taken the form of a deep seated fear of hers, it hadn't appeared in its natural state. Not like these twisted, ugly things. They crept across the ground in a sluggish manner, their feet unseen, lurching forward almost like slugs and other disgusting things. And the smell. It was like someone had tried dumping garbage on top of rotting flesh and then realized their error, attempting to douse the entire mixture in a spicy perfume, which honestly only made the smell worse not better. So caught up in fear was she, that the mageling didn't realize one such creature was making its way towards her, steering itself away from the obviously more dangerous trio up near the front and middle of the battlefield towards the easier prey. 

It likely would have continued to advance on her as she stayed frozen and she wouldn't have even noticed had Master Tethras not screamed "Eat dirt!" as a carefully aimed bolt whizzed past her curls and straight into the creature's eye. It keened once, then fell behind her as she turned to watch it in shock, her hair only just settling from the shot. Seeker Cassandra tore through another wispy green spirit and then turned to check on them as the battle finished. It hadn't been a particularly challenging one even, so she'd been sure the mage could hold her own against such things as she'd surely been educated to do. So to say that she was surprised to see Tethras comforting and checking on her was an understatement. Advancing on the two of them, the Seeker was a ball of rage and worry, mostly at herself and for Genevieve's sake but all the mage saw was an angry Seeker advancing on her.

"MAKER PRESERVE ME, WHY DID YOU NOT DEFEND YOURSELF!?! I can understand a certain level of inexperience and nerves, but to be so completely inept at considering the urgency of your own mortality in the midst of battle!? You are a trained mage, are you not?" she barked, grabbing Genevieve's arm and pulling her forward much to the latters dismay. The shame and fear was palpable on the girl's face, tears threatening to spill as she hid her face in her free hand.

"I-I'm sorry m-m'lady, I'm so sorry!" she apologized as Solas swiftly interjected on her behalf once more.

"She has the magical ability of a child, Lady Cassandra, I apologize if I was not clear enough earlier about that fact. Until she unlocks her magic and is properly trained, she will be unable to join any battle we participate in. I doubt her mentors even gave her the time of day to train her or even question why her gifts were so difficult to unlock," he defended, calming the Seeker's rage, much to the bemusement of Varric. It was outrageously satisfying to see the Seeker calmly put in her place and told to sit down and shut up the way she usually, rather demonstratively, did to others. It was slightly less satisfying when he saw the apologetic look on the mage's face. It was like she blamed herself for not being able to fight. Leading her away from them both, he shook his head good naturedly.

"No problem with being soft, Pidge. Wouldn't wanna ruffle those pretty feathers, right? Chuckles here's got a plan where you don't have to do much anyways, so the next time some ugly bastards pop up, you just stay close to me and Bianca here, I'm sure she'd love somebody to girl talk with," he joked, nudging her shoulder with his, his eyes crinkling in a triumphant smile as he saw his efforts ease her expression. The rest of the mine went uneventfully, save for another scuffle near the end, in which Genevieve hid behind a barrel, shielded by a barrier carefully placed by Master Solas to make her less noticeable to enemies. Upon exiting, they noticed some of the scouts that Lady Nightingale had sent, and as Cassandra remarked how they couldn't be the only ones, to which Varric hopefully suggested more might be ahead and alive, the three companions found themselves surprisingly minus one inexperienced apprentice. Turning behind them to look for her, they noticed her quite a few paces back, still with the bodies of the fallen scouts.

She was knelt down, and had haphazardly tugged them into a sort of straight line formation, as if trying to lay them in an injury ward rather than a battlefield. Rummaging through their clothes, the three doubled back, unsure of what she was doing. Surely she wasn't looting the dead? She didn't seem the type to do that, even if it was an almost prudent idea for the journey ahead. As they were about to question her, she found what she was searching for. The bodies had been mostly intact, so it was unclear what had ultimately killed them, save for a few claw slashes in their clothing here and there, and the magelet produced a bevy of letters from their clothing. Looking up, they noticed for the first time that tears were streaming quietly down her face, and she quickly wiped them away holding up the letters as some sort of explanation for her actions.

"I-I'm sorry.....I just....I thought their families should know to pray for them. Who can say when a search party might be sent up here to collect them to be burned properly, I thought they should know. No one should have to wonder what happened to the ones they love," she said by way of explanation, tucking the letters and trinkets of each scout into a tight safe space in her corset until they reached the encampment again. Quietly, she sniffed once, her grieving temporarily banished, and silently kept moving forward. As she passed them, the three companions simply watched her trot determinedly down the path, too stunned that she had stopped to do such a simple thing. They all knew that at some point the Chantry's forces would have sent out a party to gather these men and womens bodies and give them proper funeral rites, but that could have taken a week or more depending on how dire the situation was, longer still to contact the families since the bodies would likely be unrecognizable after being left to decompose and be scavenged by animals that long. A few of them may have never been identified at all by that point, so the family would never know. 

"I wonder...." Varric started to mumble outloud, trying to discern just what kind of life the sweet little pidgeon had actually had. She seemed so soft and docile, yet she could get ruffled up and excited at a moments notice, but be equally somber and caring the next. He didn't want to dwell on the kind of tradgedy that built someone so sensitive to the moods and wants of others before her own. Not now anyways. Perhaps later, when he was making notes on the goings on of this monumental event, he'd write about the girl who tried so hard to fade into the background she ended up standing out. Maybe he'd even get to see her fly one day if she ever got comfortable enough with herself to do so. You could never tell sometimes, he'd seen some of the sweetest pet birds stay in their cage even when the door was open simply because it was all he'd ever known. Genevieve might end up being the same way. Shaking his head, he jogged to catch up with the group, they still had a job to do after all.

No sooner had they walked down the hill and round the bend, they heard the sound of fighting and relieved voices calling for the Seeker's aid. Already tucked behind a stone wall, Varric had no time to stop and check on the little pidgeon as she cradled her hand, which was crackling a violent, sickly green magic. They all jumped into the fray, slicing, shooting, and zapping demons asunder until no more were left. With a cry, the group and confused scouts turned to look at the sound from behind the wall. As they did so, bolts of light streamed from the tear in the Fade to the ground like lightning, and more demons appeared. Solas disappeared momentarily as they fought, reappearing with Genevieve in tow, supporting her as she hobbled over with him cradling her, thrusting her hand up at the rift as he did so. With a giant woosh of air, and a finishing blast of residual energy, the rift closed almost immediately. The Seeker, to her credit, was immediately at Genevieve's side as the girls knees went weak, taking over from Solas and picking her up bridal style with ease. Her eyes softened at the mage, and she smiled down at the girl.

"It would appear my theory was correct, I did not need to use my own magic at all, the mark simply did the work on its own," Solas remarked, as Cassandra headed the group further down the path to the Temple of Ashes, Genevieve in tow. 

"You have done well, Genevieve," she comforted the clearly in pain mage, whom weakly smiled back up at her, "But we have one task yet to accomplish."


	4. Chapter 4

Between the pain, and figuring out that the burnt, smoky roasted pork smell was in fact burning human flesh at the conclave, Genevieve was having a difficult time not throwing up. Her lungs burned with ash and heat from the residual fires, her muscles ached with each step, and the mark grew ever brighter the closer they ventured to the Breach. Upon first entering, Master Solas had informed her they'd seen a sort of residual image of the Conclave and Divine Justinia, but that she'd passed out during it. 

As it was right now, they had only just entered the top platform overlooking the Breach, which was almost beautiful if Genevieve were being honest. Almost, if it didn't cause her so much pain or wasn't threatening to destroy the world. 

"Can we close it at this range?" Cassandra asked, more of Solas than of herself, to which he nodded silently. Gripping his staff a little tighter, he stared the Breach down.

"We must be prepared for something to come through to stop us, but I believe we could close it temporarily until we have more power to do so properly," he stated gravely. 

Genevieve wasn't sure what he meant by that, wasn't sure of much of anything really. How in all of Thedas was she going to be able to close that giant tear? Further more, the demons that had come out of the smaller rift were proportionate to its size, surely whatever came to defend this tear would be equally as large. She'd never be able to defend herself long enough to actually close it, and she could never ask anyone else to put themselves in jeopardy because of her incompetence. Lady Nightingale was speaking to the Seeker, positioning their archers and soldiers that had quickly followed the group to the Conclave, and Masters Solas and Tethras were paying more attention to 'the plan' than to her. No. She wouldn't endanger any of these good peoples lives like the men and women at the pass. She couldn't. 

Slipping away, she walked the perimeter of the balcony, finding a small alcove that had caved in, creating a rocky and shaky path down to the ground beneath the main Breach. Easing down it, she found herself no better at scaling rocks than any of the other trekking they'd been doing today, and quickly slipped and fell halfway down with a tumble and yelp of surprise. Shaking her head to clear it, she lifted her skirt a little to ascess the damage done to her leg. It was a nasty, long scratch, but thankfully not too deep. She'd end up with some bruises and a slow healing scab but no scars or lasting damage. Her hand sparked as the breach flared in response to its magic, causing her to grit her teeth, her breath coming up short as she gripped her forearm tightly. It was like electricity shooting up her arm, hot and burning for the first few seconds, and then cold and numbing the next few, and it just kept repeating in pulses as if the energy was trying to force its way out of her skin and escape. She managed to choke down a scream of pain at a particularly bad pulse, and frantically glanced the main groups way only to see them continuing their talk as if she were not missing. For once, her anonymity was helpful.

It wasn't until she'd managed to creep almost all the way to the breach that Master Solas called out for her, the worry and anger clearly coloring his voice, but Genevieve tuned him out. She couldn't let anyone get hurt because of her. 

"Magic was made to serve man," she whispered resolutely, thrusting her aching hand up to the breach, opening with a rather loud sonic boom and rush of air. The familiar crackle of a demon arising began to take place, but then the most curious thing happened. A swath of bright purple magic connected with the forming demon before it was able to emerge, encircling its entire field of entry before dousing its magic with a wet squelch. Blinking, she could only stare at the dissipating magic where the emerging Pride demon had almost stood in confusion, droning out the shouts and cries of soldiers and comrades alike on the balcony. That is until she was bopped lightly on the back of the head with a staff, tapped more like. Turning to find a rather handsome man rubbing his temple and 'tsk'ing her like an admonishing parent, she cocked her head.

"Vishante Kaffas, here I trek all the way here to attempt to give you silly lot a heads up on my mentor voyaging for Redcliffe, wait for the opportune moment for my dramatic entrance, and these silly Southerners have a little wisp of a girl facing down the Breach on her own? How ridiculous. You're rather lucky I was here to Dispell that brute, it would have torn through such a pretty little thing like yourself like tissue paper," the tanned man scolded, leaning against his staff rather like a reclining panther. Genevieve thought he was absolutely beautiful, all shining white leather and tanned skin and dark hair and moustaches. Were men supposed to be beautiful? She couldn't remember having seen such a lovely looking individual before, and had she had a little more of her wits about her, she'd realize her distraction was largely caused by shock. Being on autopilot already, Genevieve answered automatically in the way she usually did.

"I'm...sorry?" she cocked her head, massaging her left arm absentmindedly while the rest of the group scrambled down the alcove to come investigate.

The man chuckled jovially, his eyes crinkling warmly as he smiled at her, practically oozing charm. 

"Nice to know I can still inspire speechless bewilderment among the masses, Dorian Pavus, recently of Minrathous, at your service my dear," he responded turning to stand beside her as the rest of the group approached in various states anger and astonishment. 

The Seeker, unsurprisingly, was the most livid and stomped across the barren landscape to tower over Genevieve, making the magelet appear even smaller and more frail than she already did. Clutching her shawl, she pulled the little mage towards her, leaning her face down to stare directly into the girls terrified blue eyes.

"How could you do something so reckless?! As of now you are the only one who can close the breaches, what if no one had come to your rescue, you had no way to survive a Pride demons attack! You could have DIED, mage!" she growled fiercely, gaining support from Solas in the form of a stern grunt and nod of his head in agreement. The elf's arms were crossed, and Master Tethras wasn't much better, he was gesturing wildly while ranting on the dangers of 'heroes who always feel they have to protect everyone and everything and dammit why wouldn't they just let people help them sometimes' all the while scribbling down notes in a small journal he'd pulled from his coat pocket. Lady Nightingale, by comparison, was eerily calm as she sauntered up behind the group, placing a hand on the Seekers shoulder and stared evenly at the pair of mages. 

"It would appear the Maker provides in mysterious ways. But who would our new companion, champion of our newest ally, be?" she asked, staring Dorian down calmly but with such steel it made Genevieve want to shrink into the Fade itself. Latching onto his sleeve, she stood beside him as if he were a shield from their judgement, causing the Tevinter mage to smirk at the display.

"This is Dorian, M'Lady. He saved me," she answered simply, giving no other indication she had anything to add to the conversation. In fact, she didn't. All she knew was that this man had sprung to her aid without even knowing her name, and that was enough for her to trust him implicitly. She hadn't wanted to put anyone else in danger over her, but apparently this man had already taken it upon himself to try and help in the best way he knew how, protecting her had simply been one part of the whole picture. 

"Mm...quite, Perhaps we should continue our conversations back in Haven? I'm sure you're both tired after exerting so much magical energy," the Nightingale suggested, her own sly smile sneaking across her face as she watched Cassandra fume with unbridled worry for her charge, only to deflate a little as she noticed Genevieve now trailing Dorian as his shadow instead of her. Without having realized just how tired she was until it was pointed out to her, Genevieve yawned with a squeak, and rubbed her eye childishly. 

"Don't you need me for something else, m'lady?" she asked quietly, her suddenly too-heavy eyelids already fluttering closed, Cassandra seamlessly sweepping the mage up in her arms as the girl fell asleep where she stood. Leiliana smiled and shook her head, following Cassandra and the rest of the small group making their way back to Haven.

"Nothing that cannot wait."

\-------------------------------------------

Genevieve awoke with a start, in a room that was not her own and to the footsteps of someone else approaching her. A rather startled looking elf by the look of it. Peering at the elf, she slipped out of bed and knelt to help pick up the upended basket of herbs the elf had dropped, only to be nervously told that they'd been told to report to Lady Cassandra right away when she woke before bolting the room. Righting the basket and its contents anyways, she placed them on the table, nipping a spare piece of meat from the basket to give to the large bird of prey in the cage in the corner. She'd never seen a bird so large before, not outside of a book, but books didn't really capture the scale of a creature. Tickling the feathers under its chin as it snacked, she cooed to the creature.

"You're a brute of a thing, aren't you? You're absolutely lovely though, such pretty black feathers, I'm sure all the ladybirds must be falling all over themselves for your attention, you heartbreaker," she teased, earning a huffing squawk from the bird as it nuzzled her hand in hopes of more treats. A chuckle alerted her to another presence, and she turned in shock to see Master Solas, her shock easily sliding into warm but pleasant surprise. 

"Master Solas! What bring you here? I hope I didn't sleep too long, did I?" she blushed, turning away from him in embarrassment. She couldn't believe she'd acted so childish in front of her new protectors, especially after such a dire situation. He shook his head good naturedly and raised a hand to silence her.

"In fact you've recovered well, you have only been asleep two days, I'd been expecting far more for the level of magic you exerted closing the breach. I was coming to check on you and administer healing, but it would appear as if you no longer need it," he explained coming to stand behind her as she idly played with the bird. "Things have changed dramatically since last you woke, mageling. The humans have taken to calling you the Herald of Andraste, as foolish as that is, and your Tevinter friend has given us insight as to the moves we need to make next. I feel you may need to speak to Cassandra and the others yourself to truly understand the situation."

Biting her lip she sighed. "I'm no Herald. The Maker didn't want me to have magic....or...or maybe he did, and wanted me to bear my sins with dignity so others might know the dangers, but he and his Lady certainly didn't choose me for anything. I don't even have enough ability to be useful to anyone here, I can't imagine they wish to speak to me Master Solas. I'm just a librarian." 

He chuckled, placing his hand on her shoulder gently.   
"Not all spirits are born knowing what they were meant to be. Perhaps you are more than what you have been taught. A halla can no more tell itself apart than any other animal, until the moment it finds its true reflection. I suspect you've been staring into the wrong reflection, mageling." he consoled, leaving her to think on his words, the door left open for her to venture out when she so chose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, but there will be another update soon!


	5. Chapter 5

Venturing out into Haven wasn't nearly as shocking or awe-inspiring as Genevieve had thought it might be. Thankfully, despite Solas's warnings of perceived holiness, no one so much as lifted a glance her way. In truth, she preferred it, it was far more comforting to know she was simply another face among many than some singularity to be gawked at. There had been a mage that had been the favorite of the First Enchanter at Ostwick, Trevelyan. Now that woman was a singularity if she had ever seen one. Strong, independent, resolute, all the things a lady should be considering they hadn't had dissimilar beginnings as noble daughters. It never occurred to her to question why she hadn't ended up like that woman, why the anonymity of peasants clothes and quiet suited her better than the cowtowing of the faithful masses. Varric was though. 

Feigning disinterest in the girl who looked rather like a lost mabari pup wandering around the encampment, he jotted down some notes about the way she carried herself before pondering over the girl. She was a slight little thing, certainly not starving like many of the masses of Thedas could be, but something about her made you think a particularly strong wind could knock her over or blow her away like a dandelion. She jumped at the smallest noises, was piss poor to have in a fight, and in all likelihood more trouble than she was worth, but damned if she wasn't one of the sweetest things to cross his path since Daisy. He predicted that should they ever meet, that Daisy would take to Pidge like a cat to milk, much like the newest mage whom he'd aptly dubbed Sparkler was. No sooner had Pavus crossed his mind than did he notice the mage sweep over to Genevieve, jovially laughing at her happy surprise while brushing a lock of that curly dark hair away from her face. 

Varric had been able to wheedle out of Josephine that the circle she was from had had a bit of an uprising before it was promptly shut down by the First Enchanter and more rational Templars, in which several mages had gone missing in the chaos of others being slaughtered, their new 'Herald' being one of them. He jotted down a note to ask her how she got out sometime, seeing as he simply couldn't imagine her being wily enough to come up with some debonair plan of escape. Apparently, she'd been a librarian, a girl after his own heart. Or at least his profession. He knew from experience that someone more willing to live in the world of fantasy hated the world around them too much to face reality, or more acutely, themselves. He sure as hell knew that's why he liked to escape. Too many mistakes and regrets littered his memory, he much preferred living vicariously through his books, his heroes always making the ultimately right hard choice, never having to go back and watch their mistakes in hindsight. Well usually. Books didn't sell well if you didn't pepper at least a little reality into them to keep people interested.

What kind of story would a heroine who didn't want to be the main character possibly make? Writing Hawke had been easy, almost laughably so. His dearest friend was rather animatedly a hero, and his siblings and other friends in Kirkwall were just as bright of characters. In all his time as a writer, he'd never come across a character quite so reluctant to take the spotlight as Genevieve Thorne. 

"Already hard at work on another best seller? They publish your books in Tevinter even, you know, oh prolific maestro of the written word." 

Blinking, Varric realized he'd been staring rather intently at his notes as he mused the conundrum of his reluctant new muse, and grinned up at Dorian's rather colorful greeting. He couldn't help but notice Genevieve standing behind him, peeking around to give him a tentative smile. Putting his things away, he laughed.

"Gotta say Sparkler, I'm impressed with myself that I managed to grace your discerning shelves," he quipped, giving Genevieve a wink and grinning in triumph at the giggle it earned him. He liked her smile, it looked rather unused and skittish, but he hoped perhaps being part of....whatever this organization turned out to be, would bring it out more. 

"Oh no, not MY shelves, per se. Far too intellectual to dabble in such common titles, what about you, pet? Surely the Circles of the Free Marches must have owned a few copies of one of its sovereign sons masterworks?" the animated mage questioned, turning just enough to slide his hand to the small of the heralds back, pushing her forward into the circle round Varric's fire. He tried to feign surprise when she shook her head, far more focused on the way she fiddled with a tiny and tarnished gold ring on her pinky than the idea that a Circle didn't have his work on their shelves.

"No, I'm sorry. The library had mostly instructive books, theories, guidance on basic skills, that sort of thing. I never thought to ask anyone my age if they had a copy, really. I don't understand the need to escape in a fantasy story anyways to be honest, I'd much rather know how the world works, than imagine how it may be," she answered quietly, glancing nervously at him with those big doe eyes. Damned if it didn't make him want to know more to know his guess had been wrong. Time to casually prod for answers.

"You wound me, Pidge! As a professional dealer of fantasies I'd have thought a shut-in would like a little getaway, something a little more exciting than their day to day perhaps?" 

"O-oh! I'm so very sorry Master Tethras, I didn't mean to offend you in any way, honest. It's just....." she started, twisting the ring again, and staring wistfully out at the settlers that had all found their way to Haven, lingering on the shopkeep, the apothecary's assistant overloaded with a basket of elfroot, the soldiers shooting the shit and laughing on their way to the small bar, so much so that Varric and Dorian both raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look, leaning in to encourage the rest of her curious answer. The altus cleared his throat softly the longer she lingered, having lost herself in whatever she was thinking, and prompting a blink and her mouth to open in a small 'o' of surprise at her lapse of manners. She had the grace to blush and look away, biting her lip before turning to look at the two of them sheepishly.

"I always preferred books about the real world and the things in it, seeing as I couldn't really remember much of it. I was very small when I was taken to the Circle, so I don't remember much outside its walls firsthand. And lots of things in the books they had I was too little to have ever seen myself before, so reading about them was always so lovely. Like if you could just imagine hard enough you could feel as if you'd seen them first hand, especially Brother Genitivi's books, his are my favorites." 

Dorian seemed stunned into momentary silence, a feat Varric was sure didn't happen often, but as the shocked silence grew longer the more ajitated and panicked Genevieve seemed to become, her eyes darting to each of them and back in turn as if she was worried she'd said something wrong. With his usual bark of a laugh, a talent he always prided himself to be able to force on command to make any situation a bit warmer, he wrote down a note about her preferences before smiling at her. 

"Well Pidge, that certainly sounds like a fantasy to me. Though I guess it's more an exciting possibility now that you're on the outside, huh?" he joked, the smile finally reaching the crinkles near his eyes as she smiled back. He was glad he could put her back at ease, at least. He could see where this story was headed, and it would be a tough road for someone so gentle, if she even made it out at all. Anything he could do to calm those nerves of hers was a small price to pay. "So what are you two up to, or did you just come to bask in my manly presence? It's the chest hair, isn't it? It's glorious, I know, men and women everywhere pine over me because of it."

Rolling his eyes, Dorian snorted. "Hardly. I was on my way to procure something decent to drink and thought you may wish to join me, and came across our lost little kitten in the interim. Obviously I couldn't let such a precious jewel go unattended and decided to accompany her to the....actually dearest, where WERE we headed to again?" he quipped, turning to look at her in confusion as he pursed his lips, causing her to giggle at the little twitch it caused in his superbly coiffed mustache. Tugging her shawl closer to her, she turned to look out the gates.

"I was going to go get some herbs actually. There was an assistant, I think, that brought some to the room I was staying in when I woke up. They'd been torn to shreds, the poor things, and I thought perhaps they didn't know how to cut them right. Either way, the sap had all leaked out of the elfroot leaves and they were half crushed from being stuffed in their basket too hard so they were all but useless. I thought I might replace them so the apothecary doesn't have to. He mentioned something about notes out further down the path in his mentors cabin too, but I'm not sure where," she answered, already starting to turn towards the gates, subconsciously refocusing on her previous task the more she explained it. Out of the corner of his eye, Varric caught the glint of the sun off Cassandra's armor, and he shoo'd Genevieve away.

"Best get on with it before the Seeker drags you back to the Chantry to scold you again. Me n' Sparkler can hold her off well enough and get a drink afterwards. If you aren't back in an hour, we're gonna come find you though, alright Pidge?" he compromised, cocking his head to her enthusiastic nod. She trotted off, resolutely ignoring the Seekers advancing stride, and slipped out the gates and down the path out of sight. When Cassandra finally got to his perch, she looked livid.

"Where has the Herald gone? How could you let her wander off on her own so soon after waking? She hasn't been to the Chantry and we have important business to discuss with her, Varric, of all the irresponsible things you could do, you choose to let an unarmed civillian walk out of --" she started in on them, pausing only when Dorian held his hands up to soothe her irritation, tutting her good naturedly.

"Oh come now, Seeker, she only went to go pick a few flowers and walk the path. You can't blame the girl for being a bit overwhelmed, besides, despite his insistance we were on our way to get a drink, our dear writer likes to think I didn't notice him getting up and adjusting that crossbow of his. You could simply join us while we tail her to keep her safe, Varric was going to do it anyways," he calmed, waving off her anger easily and shooting a smug grin the dwarf's way which only earned him a good natured shrug.

"It's true. I wanted to give Pidge a little independence to herself, but lets be honest, she doesn't exactly make an intimidating picture if trouble does come her way even this close to camp," he admitted, to which the Seeker simply grunted in disgust at having to nod and agree with him. He counted the conversation as a win, she'd only acted exasperated with them twice this whole time. Cassandra nodded, tightening the sword at her side gruffly.

"Shall we go then?" 

Varric waved her off and jerked his head to the bar. "Nah, gotta give her a little bit of a lead. She's too jumpy not to be aware of her surroundings, so we gotta play it slick or we'll get caught. Might as well grab a quick one before we go, right Seeker? Or is that too close to having fun for you to abide by?" 

The only answer he got was a roll of the eyes and a third groan before being able to laugh at the Seeker trudging off to the bar, Dorian close behind snickering with him all the way.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As it turned out, watching someone collect herbs was actually a fair bit more exciting than Dorian had suspected it would be. Well, besides Cassandra and Varrics muffled bickering, he'd supposed he wouldn't get much enjoyment shadowing his new friend. Friend, that was still such an odd word even to think. He didn't have many, but Genevieve seemed to slip so quietly and immediately into the role, as if he'd been born and raised in the circle with her.

That was still a strange concept too. The way these Southerners took full advantage of the medicinal value of magic and its ability to be a weapon when needed, but otherwise kept their mages locked away like rabid animals that could snap at any moment. They were rather endangering themselves actually, what better meal for a demon than a young magelet told its entire life it was just prey, and then locked away in a tower with nowhere to run should the beast actually try to persue them. Southerners.

Genevieve made another delightful squeak of happy surprise as she found a whole bushels worth of elfroot, flopping onto her knees in the snow to start gathering. 

The thing making this trip 'nowhere near as boring as originally thought' was mostly her reactions to such little things. How gentle she looked smiling down at the plants, the way he noticed how she always left enough seeds and saplings of each plant to regrow instead of ripping up the whole lot as some people might do. And while he didn't appreciate the snow and cold of the South, his little kitten most certainly did. Or perhaps it was just the novelty of being allowed to experience it. That actually seemed the more likely theory. 

Leaning against the rock they'd decided to sneak behind, he yawned and closed his eyes for a touch. Even with her overall sweetness, there was only so much sitting and waiting Dorian liked to do. He'd rather be helping her, even if live plants were not his forte, because at least they'd be able to talk. It was so nice having people around that didn't hesitate to look him in the eyes when they spoke. Most of the people he came across merely saw a 'Vint', and it raised his hackles every time. 

Not at people necessarily, but that his countrymen had let their proud state become so synonymous with chaos and fear that their very nationality was now considered an insult. It was also, admittedly, rather lonely to live without companions who simply saw you as a person. 

A high pitched squeal made his dozing eyes snap open, staff at the ready, and Bianca's twang of release behind him along with the glint of sunlight on a sword let him know Varric and Cassandra were sprinting close hind him as he rushed towards Genevieve. It was surprisingly easier for him to navigate the snow, what with Varrics height, and Cassandras heavy armor, so he ended up reaching her first only to find a gruesome horrible.....nug. It was a nug. Pawing at her feet like a needy cat. 

She actually wasn't looking at the nug though. Upon inspection, she had her shivering little hands wrapped tight around her shawl, her eyes large and staring upwards. Dorian frowned. Of course the one person he meshed with best would be off her rocker. She'd seen the breach already, it shouldn't have been new or horrific for her at this point. 

Yet here she was, quietly sitting down on her backside to lay down, the nug crawling onto her stomach to curl up and nest while her eyes stayed resolutely upward. She absentmindedly patted the snow next to her. 

"Look look, it's snowing..." She whispered in awe, oh and Dorian so hoped he could turn his head in time to see their companions hilarious reactions. 

Varric looked torn between disbelief and a disturbingly desperate urge to start cackling like a madman, and Cassandra just looked....fondly angry? Could that be an emotion? You could never tell with her, watching the Seeker was just as entertaining as watching Genevieve sometimes. Propping his staff upright in the snow, he mentally cringed at the cold as he lowered himself to lay next to her, Varric sat on his haunches on her other side, reaching over to scratch the nug behind its floppy ear. 

Leaning up on one elbow to look at her rather than skyward, he frowned slightly, mostly at how something so.....natural could gain such rapt attention from her. Had the mages in the tower truly been this sheltered? How was this sweet creature ever going to survive? It was Dorians experience that there was nothing pure that Thedas at large could not corrupt, and he didn't relish the thought of watching life tear at her until she too was as jaded as the lot of them. 

But of course, as it seemed to be the pattern so far, tranquility was once again shattered by the Seeker.

"You're kidding, right? My lady, you are LAYING in the snow. This cannot be new to you." She huffed, sheathing her sword and looking about to keep watch. 

Genevieve turned her head slightly to consider the woman, almost childlike in the way she petulantly frowned as if Cassandra was missing the point.

"I've never seen it falling though. It's always just been here on the hills. I keep falling asleep before I can see it."

Varric and Dorian exchanged an amused look, both chuckling at how such a frank response shut the Seeker up as the much gruffer woman blushed as she watched over the Herald. Dorian threw her a saucy wink and twitch of a smile, causing the Seeker to huff again and blush an even deeper shade of red before turning her back on them. No doubt to 'protect their blind spot' he was sure. 

Perhaps, just this once, Dorian could allow himself to enjoy the mundane quiet. It wasn't so bad actually when you shared it.

**Author's Note:**

> a slow burn dragon age inquisition fic.  
> i'd been intending not to reveal the pairing, but it IS Varric/inquisitor in the end, just because while i don't want to scare anyone off reading i also don't want anyone to be upset when it's revealed as endgame. 
> 
> nsfw at times, mentions of rape, abuse, and victim blaming as our little lamb inquisitor is a mage and has not had quite the same experience madame le fer or hawke has had, so typical circle life. also, this is NOT a Cullen/Inquisitor fic. i know a lot of people like do do the Templar/Magequisitor romance thing, and while i love it too, this is not that kind of warm fuzzy ‘i forgive you and all templars’ romance. he IS a love interest at some point for my player character Hawke, whom is the youngest Hawke sibling while Garret is the eldest. Bethany still died, Carver joined the Wardens. but that comes much later and brings its own slew of issues to the main plot and our Inquisitor.
> 
> i hope you enjoy, and please feel free to send critique/comments or leave things in the tags! i always check, and i’m happy to take constructive criticism!


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